


All's Fair

by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit



Series: The Spirit Is Willing [4]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Age Difference, Fluff, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Pompous Pep, Vlad Masters is no gentleman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit/pseuds/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit
Summary: Letters, make-outs that are not fake-outs, and the exchanging of numbers.





	All's Fair

 

The minute he hears that _tap-tap-tap_ at his window, Danny drops the CDs he’s been organizing and whirls around, mist pouring from his mouth. Just outside, there is a red-eyed silhouette, backlit by the orange glow of a spectacular summer sunset. A shadow made manifest.

 

Danny smiles and waves him in.

 

Vlad phases through the window and transforms as soon as his feet touch the ground, folding his arms behind his back and seeming to take all of the breath out of the room with sheer presence. “Hi,” Danny says.

 

Vlad smiles at him, as if reluctantly charmed by Danny’s inability to say anything more elegant than that. “Good evening, Daniel.”

 

It’s strange to think of how many times Vlad has swung by here to leave passive aggressive sticky notes, and yet this is probably the first time they’ve ever been alone in here together. Danny can already feel himself start to pink up just from thinking about it, so he tells Vlad, “Let me--let me show you--” Danny turns on his heel and wrenches open his closet door, getting down on his knees. He tries to ignore how silly he probably looks, kneeling next to his old shoes and duffle bag with the bottom of his hanging shirts brushing the top of his head. He turns his hand intangible and reaches through the wall to haul out a sizeable stack of letters, setting them down on the tiled floor. Then he roots around for a moment, wraps his hand around the message in a bottle, and places it by the rest as he crawls back out of his closet.

 

“Ah,” Vlad says down at him, another smile twitching into place. “How quaint.”

 

“Hey man, we don’t all have fancy mahogany desks to keep our letters safe in.” Danny folds his legs and pats the spot on the floor next to him.

 

“Cherrywood, actually,” he corrects as he smoothly folds himself down beside Danny. Vlad doesn’t see Danny’s eye-roll because he’s already immersed in the letters, carding through them intently. While Vlad’s busy peeling sticky notes apart, one particular piece of cardstock catches Danny’s eye. It’s small, a thick piece of paper, reading only: _All’s fair, Daniel._

 

He picks it up off of the top of the stack, remembering the moment he’d found it under his lamp all those months back. Only this time when he reads it, he can hear the double meaning, the shades of desire layered underneath. He turns to Vlad, stunned and asking, “Was this… was this a written confession?”

 

Vlad glances over at the note and immediately scoffs, “Hardly.”

 

His dismissive tone is so defensive that it makes Danny grin. He leans in close and says, “You’re a liar.”

 

“No,” Vlad answers instantly. “I’m a politician.”

 

“Same difference, right?”

 

Vlad pinches the bridge of his nose, telling him, “You are an incredibly obstinate child.”

 

Danny leans even closer, grinning, “You’re into it.”

 

Looking back at him, Vlad’s hand falls away as he murmurs thoughtfully, “It certainly seems that way.” They’re practically nose to nose now, the waning sunset purpling the room around them as their breath mingles. Danny tilts his head to the side and just goes for it: listing further into Vlad’s space, pressing his mouth against Vlad’s as softly as he dares, his eyes falling shut as Vlad kisses him back.

 

It’s strangely harmonious: the excited hum under his skin, the stack of affectionate letters at his knee. The two of them trying to communicate that very same thing now--where words have failed them. Expressing it succinctly, wetly, slowly. Danny is dazed and awed by it: the scratch of Vlad’s beard against his cheek and chin. A light, probing touch at Danny’s elbow. Another hand cupping the back of Danny’s neck lightly. A kiss protracted into an ever-expanding moment, the touch of lip against lip never seeming to end.

 

But really, it’s never-ending because Danny keeps leaning in, keeps coming back for more. He should probably be embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, but he doesn’t have room for that in the hustle and bustle of hormones, the mad thumping of his heart.

 

It feels like the most important thing he’s done in a year--and he’d rescued a _lot_ of school children this spring.

 

It feels--epic, in the old sense of the word.

 

The kiss turns French quicker than Danny would have guessed, but he can’t bring himself to mind when Vlad’s tongue is running over his own just like that, when the only noise in the room is the hum of the air conditioner and the sound their mouths make when they touch. Vlad has forgone the full 3-piece suit today, so Danny can drag his fingers over the front of his dress shirt, can feel the warmth of him right there. When he just can’t resist the temptation anymore, he fiddles with the silk of Vlad’s red--bow? His tie? His… bowtie? The thought scatters when Vlad gently scrapes his index finger over the back of his neck. It makes Danny suck in a breath, the sound seeming oddly loud.

 

After that, Danny makes it his mission to kiss him like he’s got absolutely nowhere else to be. He wants to do breathtaking things to him; he wants to drive Vlad wild. Danny really feels like he’s getting the hang of it when he does a twisty thing with his tongue that has Vlad shuddering and grabbing at his shoulders. It makes Danny’s neck twinge in discomfort, though, and he realizes with a pang that they should probably move if he doesn’t want to have an aching neck later.

 

He puts enough space between them for him to meet Vlad’s hooded eyes and say, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but can we move to my bed? Just--just to kiss some more!” Danny looks away from Vlad’s raised eyebrow and the hundred-fold suggestion in his grin. “This angle is hurting my neck.”

 

Vlad gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze before letting his hand slide away. “Well, we can’t have you in pain, can we?” he says hoarsely, which makes Danny feel a little better because that is clearly the voice of a man who wants him back just as badly. Standing up is kind of a production, though, because they’re both trying not to eye each other’s erection and they’re sitting close enough to get in each other’s way as they stand. They do end up on their feet, though. And Vlad, ever the villain, takes the opportunity to start backing Danny up toward the bed. Which means Danny has to weave around the trunk at the foot of his bed backwards, almost tripping over his rug.

 

When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, Danny sinks back on his blue bedspread with relief and swivels around to put his head on his pillow. Vlad looms over him for one long moment, seemingly just to enjoy the view. Then he rolls his shoulders and lays down next to Danny, both of them still with their shoes on. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Danny is grateful to have a teeny tiny twin bed because neither of them can afford to move an inch away. Danny barely has to move closer to kiss him, open-mouthed and needy. He groans quietly when Vlad catches his lower lip between his teeth, tugs on it, and then kisses him hard, his arms wrapping around Danny’s waist warm and tight.

 

His neck feels a lot better now, with their heads together on his pillow. Honestly, he just knows his whole bed is going to smell like Vlad later and he can’t wait to bury his face in this pillow when Vlad is gone--to huff it shamelessly, like a whiff of that aftershave holds the secret of the universe.

 

It’s strange, being nostalgic for a make-out session that isn’t even over yet. He doesn’t have room to get bummed about it though, because Vlad has zero chill, and that extends to kissing. His tongue is long and searching and he makes Danny feel so _good._ Hot things juddering in his bones, his heart boiling over. And still, Danny wants...

 

Wants everything. Wants to tug Vlad’s ponytail, wants to slow-dance with him on the roof of this house, wants Vlad’s fingers inside him _yesterday._

 

But he has a feeling that taking it slow is the way to go. So he pulls away enough to sigh into Vlad’s cheek, “I want to keep going. I do. But I’m not sure… that would be smart.”

 

Vlad looks like he’s having a minor aneurysm. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and hisses, “Butter nuts,” and then he--holy crap--reaches down to adjust himself. Then he reaches into his pants pocket, muttering, “Number.” He whips out his phone and nips Danny on the chin, smearing the words into his skin, “What’s your number, Daniel?”

 

“Like you don’t already know,” Danny tells him, his brain still kind of overheated.

 

“I’m aiming to to give you the illusion of privacy.” So Danny huffs and rattles off his digits, watching Vlad plug them into his device. His own phone pings in his pocket as Vlad shoots off a text and it’s stupid, so incredibly stupid, but even the slightest vibration on his leg sends a spark of something warm through him. Vlad doesn’t cotton on, though, and it looks like it’s taking a lot of his willpower to leave this bed and stand. Which is gratifying in its own right.

 

Vlad ends up standing over him again, gazing at him like it’s a task that requires his full concentration. Danny fidgets, thinking he probably looks pretty dumb lying on his rumpled bed. He probably has beard-burn, like, just on his chin. Still, it gives him a chance to really take Vlad in: his dishevelled dress shirt, his face relaxed into something easy and wanting. His ponytail is looking a little out of whack, but like, in a frustratingly sexy way. His eyes are hooded again, and Danny doesn’t even have to sneak a peek at his groin to know that Vlad is still revved, still burning up inside just like him.

 

And then Vlad smirks, saying, “Well, this was fun. One for the road?” Danny stretches one hand out toward him, letting it rest on his shoulder as Vlad plants one knee on the bed and leans over Danny for one last kiss. Or, you know, it would be _one_ if Danny could stop himself from hauling Vlad in for another after another. He loves it, though. He loves that they’re all over each other. He loves the way Vlad’s tongue sends a hot jolt through the very center of him, the way he traces his thumb over the almost-healed cut on Danny’s cheek as he pulls away.

 

Vlad doesn’t say anything. He just walks backwards all the way back to the window, his eyes on Danny until he vanishes straight through the wall, disappearing into the night. Danny lets his head fall back on the pillow, smiling big and wide and stupid. Then he wriggles onto his stomach and buries his face in it, get a lungful of that aftershave. It is, indeed, the secret of the universe.

 

When he starts running low on air, he rolls back over and idly tugs his phone out to check the time. And there, under the hour, is a text five months in the making: _Be a dear and buy yourself a dress shirt and slacks. Unless you want to go on our first date in a t-shirt and jeans?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Forward your love letters to my betas, Freakydeakymoonmagic and RosemarySensei. They are some wonderfully giving people.


End file.
